


Russian Lit

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crossover Pairings, F/F, Femslash, Femslash February, Rare Pairings, Spies & Secret Agents, Strangers to Lovers, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 10:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3407054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha thinks she needs to put in a call to SHIELD. Dr. Martin has decided to make herself into a problem, and she can't kill her, Lydia is too high profile a target.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Russian Lit

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Maybe Lydia's at college or somewhere that the Black Widow has to go undercover?

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“And frankly, your Russian is terrible.”

Both Natasha's brow loft at that one, and she leans forwards, narrows her eyes and growls in her native tongue. “ _How dare you insult my language_?”

Lydia tilts her head ever so slightly and responds, in perfect, flawless, beautiful Russian, the kind that the kings and queens and the old gods might have spoken. “ _You talk like you're from the street._ ”

Natasha flinches back, imperceptibly but still, it stings, and she's not amused to note that she's still, after all this time, got an inferiority complex about her orphanage upbringing.

Lydia switches back to English as Natasha handles her brief existential crisis. “Therefore, I'll be watching your classes, since Professor Volkov is apparently to drunk to notice your lack of ability whatsoever.”

Natasha thinks she needs to put in a call to SHIELD. Dr. Martin has decided to make herself into a problem, and she can't kill her, Lydia is too high profile a target. For now, though, she lifts her chin haughtily, rises and looks down on the head of the Russian Department, who'd she'd taken for a petty bureaucrat, and glares before turning on her heel and storming out.

Natasha's more annoyed than anything, but Nadya Rychenkov is known to be a drama queen.

As soon as she's to a safe location, she calls Coulson. “No sign of metahumans here, but I got an administrator that's asking too many questions.”

“Maybe because she's the one making the calls,” the Director says after Natasha's laid out the problem. “That bug you put on her line gave us two of the five calls.”

Natasha habitually puts taps on every phone that she comes across.

“How did she hide the number from the police?”

“I'd like to know that as well,” Coulson says.

Natasha focuses her energies on getting to know Dr. Martin better. She eavesdrops on her calls, plants another bug in her office, and does her damnedest to learn how to teach the Lit class so that she looks competent. It must work because Lydia shows up less and less to the classes she's teaching.

Natasha never realized how much paperwork went in to teaching. “I'm never posing as a professor again,” she complains to Phil. “I'm barely keeping up after eleven hours of working at it today, and I still have a meeting.”

“Welcome to bureaucracy,” he says unsympathetically. “Anything new on your actual job?”

-

It's another week before something breaks, before she's awoken at four in the morning by a phone call from SHIELD. “Martin's made another call.”

Natasha slides into her black catsuit and crawls across the roofs of the campus buildings until she's atop the one that houses Dr. Martin, and she listens. And hears absolute silence. Too much silence. There's no creaking of roof beams, or appliances running, or anything.

Natasha creeps closer, scales the side of the building and peers in the window. And sees Lydia sitting in the middle of her bed, nightgown askew, mouth open in a long, silent scream. Natasha's eyes flick around, but she can't see any threat, any reason for the scream, and surmises a nightmare. Perhaps as part of the remorse that makes her call in the placement of dead bodies after she's killed them.

Natasha eases open a window in the living room next to where Martin is screaming, and wriggles herself within. It's still too silent.

Right up until she touches the doorknob to the bedroom, and then the full force of that scream hits her. It's more than just a scream, it's an eardrum rupturing, disorienting, drive-everything-out-of-your-mind-except-the-pain scream, and Natasha falls backward in a dead faint.

-

When she wakes up, she's tied to a chair, and there's not only Dr. Martin staring at her, but three men as well, and Natasha quickly takes in their features. Tall, lean build, in need of a haircut, moles. Shorter, bulkier, glowing blue eyes, gorgeous neck. Dark hair, five o'clock shadow, muscular, also glowing blue eyes.

Moles crouches down in front of her to put them on eye-level. “Why are you sneaking into Lydia's rooms?”

Natasha opens her eyes a little bit wider, tilts her head sideways. “Why was she screaming?”

“She's a banshee, predicts death,” the guy says with no hesitation.

“Stiles!” Lydia snaps out, but he waves her off. “We're going to erase her memory.”

Natasha's heart skips a beat as she recalls the mind-wipes practiced by the Red Room.

Both blue-eyed men swivel to look at her.

“Well, that's got you scared, now doesn't it?” one says with an arrogant smirk.

The one called Stiles reaches forward and rests his hands over Natasha's ears. She can't help but gasp as she feels a warmth suffuse the sides of her head. “That should heal you for now,” he says and then steps back. “Why are you sneaking into Lydia's rooms?”

Natasha affects a faintly guilty look, closely followed by a defiant one. “She's got a ton of jewelry, I was going to rob her and cash out.”

“Lie,” both the blue eyes say in unison.

Stiles glances over and nods to the stockier of the two, who steps forward and extends his hand to show wicked-looking claws.

“Peter really likes marking people up,” Stiles tells her, “I wouldn't give him the opportunity.”

Natasha considers her options. “I work for an organization called SHIELD.”

“Truth,” the dark-haired one says from where he's leaning into the corner, arms crossed.

“SHIELD,” Peter muses. “Fury still running things?”

Natasha shakes her head. “Dead.”

Peter steps back and sheathes his claws. “Let me guess. You were looking for metahumans, and thought our Lydia might be one, secretly killing people with her powers.”

Natasha can't help but stare at Peter a long moment.

“It makes sense,” he shrugs, sharing a look with Lydia. She nods and then he and the other guy with glowing blue eyes jump out the window.

“What – ” she begins, but Stiles interrupts her.

“Werewolves,” he responds, then looks to Lydia. “You good now?”

She nods, and Stiles spins in a circle, and then vanishes. Natasha narrows her eyes suspiciously.

“He's a mage,” Lydia supplies, perching in front of Natasha. “I knew you weren't a Russian Lit professor.”

“I hate Russian Lit,” Natasha confesses, to which Lydia can't help but laugh as she unties Natasha.

“You could have come to me,” Lydia says softly as she perches on the end of the bed.

“I thought you were a serial killer,” Natasha shrugs.

“I could be,” Lydia offers.

Natasha snorts. “So, a banshee, huh? Can't say I've run across one of those before.”

“We're rare,” Lydia leans back, ignoring the way her nightgown pulls across her chest. But Natasha doesn't, can't help her eyes flicking to the nipples poking through the soft materiel.

Lydia follows her gaze, tilts her head. “You know, it's still early.”

Natasha glances up, with an eyebrow arched. “Early?”

Lydia rises, stands in front of the bed, and pulls her nightgown off with one smooth motion. “Plenty of time before morning.”

Natasha's mouth goes dry, but she covers with arrogance, lets her gaze roam slowly up and down the other woman's body as Lydia walks forward and straddles Natasha's lap.

“I'm betting you can be real creative when it comes to figuring out how to pass the time.”

Natasha's usually the one seducing, the one who's using her body to get what she wants. It's an odd sensation to be on the other side. She rather thinks she likes it. A smile slowly curves her lips and she snakes an arm around Lydia's midsection. “I am known for my imaginative solutions.”

She latches her mouth onto Lydia's nipple, swirls her tongue around it and sucks hard. Lydia's body bows in her grasp, as she arches forward into the suction, and her voice is breathless as she responds. “I can't wait to see what you can do.”

Natasha takes it as the challenge that it is, and neither of them do any more talking for a long time.


End file.
